Through My Blood
by BabyCaramel
Summary: Rentfic, in which Roger must come to terms with a dying relationship, and possibly a blossoming one. R for language. Please read/review! *CHAPTER ELEVEN NOW UP* And thus it is complete!
1. Wide Awake

_I don't really know where this came from. I wrote Mantra and I wanted to write an extension to it. It was just gonna be a single scene, based on a paragraph that I really liked. So I wrote that scene, and then another, and another, and ended up with... this. I'm only posting the first chapter right now, because I need some time to edit the other chapters (not to mention write the ones that are still floating around in my head). I hope it's decent. Actually, I fairly dislike the first chapter, but it's necessary. You know, introduce the plot and all. It gets better. Please read/review - love it, hate it, want to burn it in a fiery pit of snakes, whatever, let me know. Thanks. :-)_

Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine, sadly. I promise to take good care of them, though.

This is dedicated to Kait and Sandy. insert cheezy, sentimental thoughts here

_Through My Blood_

By Alison

_Chapter One: Wide Awake_

Where have you been? My voice was tired, a vague blend of anger and annoyance splashed with worry. It was the same every time: I waited up until three, four AM, she waltzed in eventually with an apologetic smile and another lame excuse.

Sorry I'm late, she murmured, biting her black-polished thumbnail nervously. I was really busy at the club tonight.

Busy doing what, I asked dully, making out with the customers?

Mimi's lower lip jutted out like it always did when she got indignant. Funny -- I used to find that so endearing. Now it was just one more flaw to add to the ever-growing list.

I wasn't cheating on you! She adopted a defensive stance, her arms crossed tightly and her head cocked to the side. Don't you trust me at all?

No, I shot back. I don't. You've cheated on me before, why should now be any different?

I can't believe this, she huffed. It was a year ago, get over it already!

I rolled my eyes. Fine, you weren't having sex, you were out shooting up, or getting drunk, or doing God knows what else there is to do in the East Village at two o'clock in the morning.

You know what? Mimi turned abruptly, her high heeled boots loudly hitting the floorboards as she stomped over to the door. When she reached it, she paused to face me again. You're a jealous asshole, Roger, and you can't stand the fact that I might have things to do that don't involve you!

She always did this, twisted everything around so that it was my fault. Now I'm a jealous asshole, huh? Well if you hate me so damn much, why the hell are you still with me?

Maybe if I wasn't permanently attached to your leash, I wouldn't be!

Scowling, I retorted, I just want to be sure my girlfriend isn't out fucking the landlord again!

Fuck you! Before I could say anything in response, she was gone, the front door shaking on its frame from the force of her slam.

Fuck you too, Mimi,' I thought as I collapsed on the couch with a sigh. The entire conversation could have been a replica of the past week's argument. Or the week before. Same script, same cast, just like always. And once again I was left wondering, how much more time? How long before we both got sick of this game? Hell, I already was sick of it.

So why did I keep doing it?

It didn't matter now. She was gone. For how long, I couldn't predict. A few days maybe. It never lasted longer than that. And frankly, if it did this time, I wouldn't care. At least that would mean a few extra days before another inevitable breakup.

Across the living room, a door creaked open. Hey Roge, Mark called softly, are you okay?

He must have heard our fight; the entire building probably had. I shrugged and answered with a simple, unenthusiastic, Yeah.

The filmmaker crept closer. What was it this time?

Same as always.

Mark sat down beside me and offered a small, reassuring smile. Don't worry, Roge. She'll come around, and then you two'll be as happy as ever.

He knew as well as I did that Mimi and I were rarely happy anymore. Sure, the makeup sex was good, but after that our relationship was a constant stream of bickering, interspersed with lust-filled nights, until our next huge conflict. I don't know, I muttered.

Of course she will, she always--

No, I know. She always comes back. And so do I. I sighed, exhausted both physically and mental. I just don't know if it's worth it anymore.

Mark looked like he had been expecting this for a while. Maybe he had. Scooting nearer to me, he laid a hand gently on my arm. You deserve happiness. And if you're not finding it, well... He trailed off, shrugging. Not everything lasts forever.

I leaned back against the ratty couch cushion. He was always so patient with me. We'd had this talk countless times before, yet each time without fail, he was there with a dry shoulder and caring words. Why couldn't I be with someone like him?

A woman, of course. A woman like him.

Want me to make you some ice cream? I'll put chocolate syrup on it, Mark offered, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

I couldn't help the quiet laugh that escaped my throat, despite my bad mood. And what exactly do you plan on doing with that chocolate syrup?

I've got tricks you've only dreamed of, he teased. Play nice and you might even get some whipped cream on top.

Ooh, now I'm interested!

I knew you would be. He winked playfully before stealing away to the kitchen.

My earlier argument seemed a lifetime away. Who cared what Mimi had said or done? I had Mark now.

Well, not like _that_. Just as a friend. _Although,_ I noted sourly, _he'd probably be better for me than Mimi is._

Mark reappeared a moment later, carrying two bowls of rocky road. He handed me one, then sunk down onto the couch and leaned up against my shoulder. Suddenly my appetite disappeared. Since when did I start imagining Mark as more than a friend? That would be like dating my sister or something. Gross.

It took him a few minutes to notice that I hadn't touched my ice cream. What's the matter, Roge? he asked, glancing up from his own half-eaten bowl.

I shrugged. Nothing.

C'mon, you can tell me.

I _said_, nothing!

He was still for a moment. Then, before I knew what was going on, he lunged forward onto my lap and swiped my nose with whipped cream. I turned to glare at him, but his triumphant grin quickly melted my scowl away. Dammit, it was impossible to stay mad at that face.

Oh, you're gonna pay for that, I threatened, just as he flung another dollop of the sugary fluff at me. I scooped a hand into my bowl and smeared chocolate syrup and ice cream across the filmmaker's cheek. As I neared his lips, Mark opened his mouth and latched on to two of my fingers. Giggling, he started to lick the chocolate off of them, when I pulled away in horror.

What the hell was he doing? Trying to come on to me or something?

Mark didn't seem to understand why I wouldn't meet his eyes. Maybe he hadn't meant anything by the action. After all, it wasn't out of the ordinary for us to hug or lay on the couch together, so maybe he thought licking my fingers would be the same.

Then why was I getting so hot and bothered by it?

Fuck. Now _that_ wasn't ordinary. This was Mark: my best friend, practically my brother. Even ignoring the fact that we were both men, it just wasn't right to have your hand in your best friend's mouth and actually enjoy it. _You're a fucking pervert, Roger._

The filmmaker's lips dropped into a frown. Are you okay?

I'm fine, alright? I replied, too quickly, too tensely. Now he would know something was up. God, if he knew the kind of thoughts I'd been having... I jumped up from the couch and headed across the room as calmly as possible.

Look, I--

'Night, Mark.

Silence filled the air; I knew Mark was debating whether he should just let me be or press the issue. Finally he sighed in defeat as I reached my bedroom door. Sleep well, Roge.


	2. My Own Reality

_Here it is. Lovely Chapter Two. Actually my favorite chapter, at the moment. Which, of course, means that now there'll probably be a million and one things wrong with it. ::shrugs:: Oh well. Please read/review, as usual. You'll be one of my favorite people in the world if you do. Yes, I'm that easy to win over. _

Disclaimer: Not my characters. Although I'd be happy to take them if their owner's tired of them.

_Through My Blood_

By Alison

_Chapter Two: My Own Reality_

"Roger?"

The voice filtered dimly through my sleep-hazed mind, but I ignored it. Whoever was calling me could just wait until a more decent hour to wake me.

"Roger!" the voice repeated, more desperate this time.

I cracked one eyelid reluctantly open. "Hmm?" I mumbled.

Mark's image stood before me, chewing on a quivering lower lip: such a stark change from the innocent, playful Mark I'd seen only hours before. "Do you ever... d--do you ever..." he trailed off anxiously.

"Do I ever what?" I prodded, opening my eyes all the way as I struggled to pull myself upright in bed.

He sniffled. "Do you ever just need to be held?" Silver tears began to glisten and melt into the hazel circles of his eyes. He was obviously trying to hold them back but not succeeding very well.

"What's the matter?" At my words, he inched hesitantly toward my bed, causing me to tense up involuntarily. No, he couldn't come over to me, not after what had just happened a few hours before...

"I had a bad dream," he murmured quietly. His watery eyes met mine, silently begging to be protected. I was helpless under his pleading gaze. That look, that vulnerability and absolute trust in my actions, was impossible to resist. Mark needed me.

Willing my thoughts and body to behave, I shifted sideways. As he crawled under the covers, I wrapped my arms around his thin frame then guided his head to my chest. "It's over now, there's nothing to be afraid of," I whispered reassuringly. He didn't respond, so I ventured another sentence. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Mark trembled in my embrace. "My father," he began cautiously, "He was there, and... oh god, he was hitting me, and cursing and screaming, and -- and I..." His voice broke, replaced swiftly by harsh, choking sobs.

"Hey, hey... it's alright," I breathed, pressing my face against the top of his head -- he always smelled so good, like tea and shampoo and fresh air and snow -- _no, stop it, stop thinking about him like that_ -- and entwining my fingers in his tangled blond hair. "You don't have to talk about it if it hurts too much."

I felt him nod slightly and snuggle closer to me. "Can I just, um, s-sleep here tonight?" he stuttered, still softly crying.

I swallowed. "Of course."

"Thanks."

His face tilted upward until our gazes locked again. I smiled; he coughed and stifled another sob.

Fuck. This couldn't happen. Mark wasn't supposed to cry, he had to be happy, innocent, beautiful -- dammit, why was I thinking that again?

I pushed a strand of hair back from my filmmaker's forehead. Well, he was beautiful. Everything about him: his floppy, sand-colored hair, his wide, azure eyes, his face... I would be lying if I said he wasn't gorgeous. There was no shame in admitting that, was there?

Mark whimpered almost inaudibly; his shoulders still shook with every tear that fell. My next action seemed the only plausible thing to do at this point.

I leaned down, brushing my lips lightly over his red-streaked face. The skin was pale and smooth and natural, not tainted or obscured by makeup like the cheeks I usually kissed. Different.

Perfect.

He stirred slightly, and I felt my heart catch in my throat. Shit, this was not good -- he was going to pull away, or ask what the hell I was doing, or yell at me, or --

Or fall asleep. He was sleeping, his exhausted, frightened body curled up with mine. One of his arms draped itself across my waist while the other weakly sought out and clutched onto my fingertips.

Relief flooded my chest. It was silly, silly to have feared Mark's reaction. Of course he wouldn't mind. He was my best friend. He loved me, and I loved him.

And suddenly nothing had ever made more sense. Closing my eyes, I pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. I loved him.

Mark was precious when he slept. His waking hours, like mine, were haunted by worries and pain and fear, although he wouldn't dare admit it. Instead he spent his time shaping and smoothing and shining all his troubles into what might easily resemble a happy, carefree existence. Might, at least, to someone who never saw him slave away, bleary-eyed, over film reels at three AM; never watched as he hurled his glasses, a pencil, or whatever happened to be handy, halfway across the room in frustration; never heard him slam the phone down after a shouting match with his parents or Maureen.

But asleep, all the problems that plagued him during the day seemed to dissipate from his now peacefully resting form. And it was my touch that had helped, my voice that had quelled his fears and brought a smile to his lovely lips. I wanted to hold him forever, to let our bodies meld into one and to just _be_, free from tragedy and nightmares. Together. Was that an unreasonable wish?

Who was I kidding? I knew full well that it was. It could never happen, not when so many factors prevented it. Like my disease. My anger and temper. My _girlfriend_, for Christ's sake. Mimi. I loved her.

Didn't I? No, no, I shouldn't have even been doubting that. Of course I loved her. She was everything I wanted. Beautiful, funny, sweet, sexy, vivacious... perfect.

Looking down at my filmmaker, though, made every thought of Mimi fade from my mind. _This_ was perfection. Mark. My Mark. Nothing else mattered anymore. Nothing except protecting him from his demons and being with him forever. And the longer we lay there, the easier it was to convince myself that forever might just be possible.


	3. Change Your Mind

_Yay, Chapter 3 is done! I feel like it ends a little abruptly, but it'll flow into Chapter 4 quite nicely once I've posted it. And if I just combined the two chapters together, this would be, like, three times as long as every other chapter has been. So, ::shrugs:: whatever. I kinda vaguely like it. Let me know what you think, as usual. I love reviews (especially helpful, constructive ones)! Hopefully Chapter 4'll be finished and posted soon, as well._

Disclaimer: They aren't mine. They just come over to play occasionally.

_Through My Blood_

By Alison

_Chapter Three: Change Your Mind_

I awoke with a sense of determination. I knew how I felt about Mark; now I just had to figure out if he felt the same way. Only one way to know. Sighing contentedly, I rolled over in bed with a smile. The smile was quickly replaced by a frown, though, when I realized Mark was gone. Shit. I hoped that wasn't a bad omen.

From the kitchen came the muffled sounds of movement and activity -- he was making breakfast. Maybe he wanted to thank me for last night. Well, if he _really_ wanted to thank me...

No, I wasn't going to think about that. Especially not now. Hell, I still technically had a girlfriend, and the one thing I'm definitely not is a cheater. The least I could do was have the decency to let Mimi down gently before hopping into bed with another guy.

_Okay, slow down, Roger... you don't even know if he likes you like that yet._

But, he had to. I mean, first he licked my fingers, then he came to my room and practically fell all over me! It was all part of his plan, I was sure of it.

I pulled myself out of bed and trudged into the kitchen. Mark turned to greet my entrance with a smile. _Here it comes, _I thought smugly,_his confession..._

Morning, Roge. Sleep well?

The best, I answered in the best sexy-rock-star-voice I could muster.

We're out of cereal, Mark said , stirring sugar into a cup of coffee before handing it to me, so I think I'm gonna run to the grocery store. Need anything?

Wait, wait. Where was his declaration of undying love? Where was the storybook-perfect first kiss? No, thanks, I mumbled confusedly.

Okay. Be back soon. He flashed his adorable lopsided grin before disappearing from the room. A few moments later, the front door slammed shut as he left.

I sighed. He had acted like it was just a normal day. No romantic confessions, no wistful glances, not even any awkward, sexually charged silences. This wasn't at all how it was supposed to happen.

Was he playing hard to get? Yeah, right. Mark wouldn't know how to play mind games like that even if he wanted to. Although... he'd certainly been used enough times by Maureen to learn a thing or two about games. But, that also meant he'd learned how much it hurts to be on the receiving end, and he was too nice to purposely fuck with my head. Right?

Wandering into the living room, I collapsed onto the couch and sighed. I needed to stop thinking so much. That was Mark's job, and he was definitely good enough at it for the both of us.

Probably not the only thing he was good at, either. Hell, I'd heard him and Maureen through the bedroom walls back when they were a couple. It was kind of impossible not to -- thin walls and a woman who thinks she's a sex goddess are not the best equation for a quiet night. And either that girl was a great actress, or Mark really knew what he was doing under the covers...

Holy fuck. It was a good thing Mark wasn't around at that particular moment. Explaining my pajama pants' sudden tightness was not how I wanted to start the morning.

The phone rang just as I entered the bathroom. The answering machine could get it, I decided. I had slightly more pressing issues to resolve. (A/N: No pun intended, I swear!)

For once I actually didn't mind our lack of a water heater. The tepid spray of water rushed down my body, comforting me with its steady stream. Eyes closed, I reached blindly for the shampoo and poured some into my hands. The scent was unusual -- not the way my shampoo normally smells -- yet oddly familiar.

I opened my eyes. The substance in my hand wasn't shampoo at all. It was body wash. Mimi's body wash.

Christ, I just couldn't get away from her. Everything, everywhere I went, every thought I had, every action: it all led to her. Which meant that guilt was soon to follow. Guilt for falling out of love -- if that was the case, although I still thought I loved her -- guilt for thinking about someone else, guilt because I was afraid to just be honest and tell her my heart wasn't entirely in it anymore, and guilt for not even knowing why I felt this way.

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe last night was just an illusion. That had to be it. God knows my impulsiveness had gotten me into trouble before. I was tempted at the time, but that happens to everyone. It didn't mean there was anything there worth pursuing, worth ruining a perfect relationship with the woman of my dreams.

Maybe if I kept telling myself that, I would actually begin to believe it.

Half an hour later, I stepped out of the shower, finally convinced that I had cleansed the crazy notion of liking Mark from my being. I wandered, naked, into my bedroom, drying my head with a towel.

Hey there.

Shit! In one swift motion I covered myself with the towel, then looked around to see who had just spoken.

Mimi was perched delicately on my bed. Thank God, she didn't seem to suspect anything.

_Suspect what, Roger? There's nothing to suspect. You haven't done anything wrong. It's normal, perfectly normal, everyone has doubts from time to time._

I, um, I called earlier, but nobody answered the phone so I just came over, she said, biting the corner of her lip.

Only then did I calm down enough to remember our earlier fight. Oh. Yeah, I was in the shower.

I kinda figured that out, said Mimi with a small giggle.

Yeah. I turned away quickly, rolling my eyes at myself. So what's up?

Well, I don't have to be at work until noon, so I thought I'd come see you for a while. Her words came out in a kind of forced casual tone, that implied connotation of I-know-we-just-had-a-fight-yesterday-but-maybe-if we-ignore-it-the-problem-will-go-away lurking in an otherwise innocent sentence.

Had it been any other day, I would have played along. Had I been thinking about anything but what was actually on my mind before she appeared, I would have already pulled her into my arms by now, rather than pacing around nervously as I now found myself doing.

Roger?

I looked up from the floor with a start. Huh? Oh... yeah?

Are you okay?

What? No, I mean, yeah, I mean... of course I'm okay. Never been better. Why wouldn't I be? I laughed nervously and swallowed hard.

Mimi gave me a long, searching look before responding. You just -- you seem a little strange. Are you sure nothing's wrong? You can tell me if something is. She stepped toward me; I backed away unconsciously.

I said I'm fine, okay? I snapped.

Mimi sighed, a small frown causing her glossed lips to pout. Shit, I always did that, I always managed to find some way to piss people off. I'm just a fucking ray of sunshine.

Taking a deep breath, I slid closer to her and snaked my arms around her waist. Hey -- I'm sorry, I murmured. It was a long night, and I'm kinda edgy now.

I noticed. After a moment she relented into my embrace, stretching upward to brush her lips against mine.

The first time Mimi ever kissed me, I felt this... spark, for lack of a better word. It came as a shock at first, made me back away and insist she leave. I had never experienced something like that before, and it frightened me -- but at the same time, though I wouldn't admit it until later that night, I was entranced. As long as we had been together, that spark had remained, had continued to stir me, thrill me, and overwhelm me.

Maybe it was my imagination, but I couldn't sense that electricity and magic now.

I was just angry, of course. I needed to relax, stop being so paranoid about things. _Give it time, Roger._

The kisses deepened as we made our way to the bed, my towel long forgotten in a heap on the floor with her clothes. God, she was gorgeous. Not to mention damn talented at what she did. In the afterglow, I breathed a sigh of relief. I couldn't be gay or in love with Mark. The mere fact that I was able to have sex with Mimi and enjoy it confirmed that, didn't it?

I pulled the sheets up over our intertwined bodies, placing my lips gently on her closed eyelids. The corners of her mouth curled upward into a tiny smile. She was wonderful -- no, beyond wonderful, _perfect_. I just needed a reminder, needed to see her face and her smile and hear her voice whispering my name to remember how much I loved her.

Why couldn't I remember that when she wasn't around?

Someone rapped softly on my bedroom door, disrupting my thoughts. What? I mumbled sleepily.

Roger, I'm back! The door creaked open partway. I got the... oh... shit, I'm sorry, I didn't realize Mimi was here-- Mark paused, like he thought he should leave and shut the door but couldn't force his body to move correctly.

I bit my lip, feeling my cheeks redden, and clung tighter to Mimi. It's okay. We're, uh, done now anyway. I think she's asleep.

Okay... Mark stalled nervously. Was it my imagination or was he staring at me? Um, so, yeah, I got the Captain Crunch. And I bought some fruit -- He was blushing. Why the hell was he blushing? And was my face as bright as his? Cause we need our nutrients. You know. I, uh, I'll just... go now...

And he was gone, the door slammed shut behind him. I heard my girlfriend chuckle under her breath. Poor Mark, he gets so uptight about sex sometimes.

I thought you were going to sleep.

Mimi sat up and extended her arms above her head, stretching her body like a cat. Wish I could, but I have to work today.

What? My face blanched. Since when?

I told you when I came in, silly.

But -- but you can't...

And why is that? She rolled her eyes as she twisted her torso to each side lithely.

Because I -- well, I... I want you here!

You'll survive, Mimi stated calmly. She slipped off the bed, reaching for her clothing on the floor. What's with you lately, Roge? You're being weird.

I sighed. She didn't understand. How could she? If she left, that meant I'd be alone in the loft with Mark...

I was insane. I'd been alone in the loft with Mark a million times, and it hadn't caused a nervous breakdown or the apocalypse yet.

_Yeah, and thinking about him never made me need to take a cold shower before, but there's a first time for everything, isn't there?_

Please, I whispered. Don't go.

Grow up, Roger. Now fully dressed, she slinked over to my side and tangled a hand in my hair. I need the money, you know that. Just be happy I got that job waitressing now. I could go back to the Cat Scratch Club and only work a few hours a night, four nights a week...

No! I blurted.

She smirked. That's what I thought. I'll see you soon, babe. Mimi kissed me softly then, like a flash, disappeared from the room.


	4. Deliver Me The Poison

_Ta-da. Chapter four. Not the best thing ever written, but I'm kinda fond of it. It starts off kind of abruptly, mostly because it was supposed to be part of chapter three, but I didn't want that one to be so long and unwieldy, so I split it up. Anyway, here it is. Please read/review, let me know what you like and what you think could be done better. Thanks so much! _

Disclaimer: Still not mine. Wish they were. Oh, the things I could do with my very own Mark and Roger...

_Through My Blood_

By Alison

_Chapter Four: Deliver Me The Poison _

Okay. I could do this. I was a man -- a very straight, not-interested-in-his-best-friend-at-all man. I walked into the living room and seated myself on the couch, turning on the television.

The reception wasn't great, but about as good as could be expected from pirated cable. Some sappy made-for-tv romance movie was playing; a bleach blond heroine, clad in what must have been the slinkiest dress ever created, was sobbing melodramatically into her lover's perfectly chiseled, shirtless chest. Did people really watch this crap?

Before I could change the channel, though, I found myself staring at the man on screen. Was I attracted to him? He was, undoubtedly, a good-looking guy -- but he did nothing for me.

So why was it that the sight of Mark did everything for me?

Sighing in frustration, I switched my attention to the woman. I had to find _someone_ in the pair attractive, right? And if I wasn't gay, then it would have to be the girl. But... she didn't suit my fancy, either. She was trying way too hard to look good, and it had backfired so that she came across as a trashy, attention-starved vixen.

What the hell was wrong with me? I wasn't turned on by a guy or a girl! Was I just Mark-sexual or something? _No_, my head protested angrily, _you're Mimi-sexual. Okay? You love Mimi. Period. End of story. No Mark in there, anywhere!_

As if on cue, the filmmaker came out of the kitchen and collapsed beside me on the couch, resting his head right below my navel. Oh God. _Don't think about it, don't think about it...  
_  
Let me get you a pillow, I said quickly. I'm sure it'd be more comfortable than my lap.

He shifted his head -- shit, did he have to do that? -- so that he was looking up at me. That's okay. Your lap's fine.

I -- I, uh... I swallowed hard and let my head drop back against the sofa. He was so close... so close, and I couldn't help but think how much I wanted him to --

_No!_ I stood up abruptly, nearly throwing Mark off me in the process. Hey, I'm sorry, I just remembered I've gotta... go somewhere... With no further explanation, I escaped to the front door, tumbling down the staircase and outside. My legs carried me down the street toward some unknown destination, faster and faster until I wasn't sure the rest of my body could keep up anymore.

My strength finally gave out as I reached 14th Street, and I dropped to the cement beside the subway station entrance. A man walked by, clad in a thick windbreaker despite the relative warmth of the June morning. His head was almost shrouded by the oversized hood, but somehow our eyes found each other, locked for a moment in silent communication. He averted his gaze, nodding subtly toward a nearby alley.

I stood slowly and busied myself with retying my shoelaces before I casually joined him there. Well, well, well, he murmured, amused.

He thought I came looking for him on purpose. He thought it was my fault that I ended up right next to one of his usual haunts. He thought it was inevitable that I'd come crawling back, that I was devoid of willpower, guts, spine.

I thought I'd lost you for good. Guess you couldn't stay away, huh? God, I hadn't remembered hating his voice so much. It was throaty and low, soothing... controlled and quietly persuasive. He could convince a nun to join a whorehouse with a voice like that. Tempting... so goddamn tempting...

I scowled and shuffled through my pocket for money. Look, I just need to get my mind off-- why the hell am I explaining anything to you?

Just what I was gonna ask, he snickered. How much you need?

I... I only have... I glanced up and saw him shift impatiently on the balls of his feet. Forcing an disinterested expression to my face, I offered a few crumpled bills. I couldn't let him think I was desperate. Hell, I wasn't desperate. I could turn and walk away at any moment if I wanted.

You're gonna have to come up with more than that, cutie pie.

The hair on my neck bristled at his nickname for me. Don't fucking mess with me, I growled angrily. I don't have to be here, you know.

But you are.

Damn him. Do you want my money or not?

He frowned slightly, shoving his hands into his pockets. You need a works, too? I'm guessing you got rid of yours when you quit... I could heard the sarcasm as he uttered that last word. And let's make this quick, okay? I'm doing you a favor, you know I don't usually deal in broad daylight.

Look, I snapped. This is all I've got. Just... give me what you can.

The man snatched the money from my outward-thrust hand. His other hand emerged from a pocket, victoriously displaying a tiny plastic bag. Its contents included what looked like enough smack for one hit and everything I needed to shoot up. One thing I had to say for him: he took care of his clients. Thanks, I muttered.

What the fuck? Now I was thanking him? I had to get away from him, fast.

He was gone before my thoughts even finished processing. Made my job a little easier. I crept farther back into the dim alley, behind a dumpster where I was sure I wouldn't be seen. Then I set to work, my guitarist fingers deftly manipulating a lighter beneath the spoonful of melting white powder. Once I had a smooth liquid, I simultaneously filled the syringe and began searching for a vein. It only took a few seconds; I'd always had naturally prominent veins. April used to tell me they were made for heroin.

A vague fluttering filled my stomach. The day after April died was the last time I had shot up. Two years ago -- two years I'd been clean, and I was about to throw that away. I hesitated just before inserting the needle. The rational part of my mind whispered that this wasn't a solution, but it was blotted out by an image of Mark's face and a burning, aching fear in my heart.

I had no choice. Heroin offered the only solace I knew, I had ever known. It was like an old friend, come to keep me safe, to rescue me from pain and worry and fear and life. It had never let me down before and I knew it wouldn't now.

I thrust the sharp metal tip into my skin and pressed down on the plunger. Immediately a warm, fluid sensation filled my arm, coursing up to my head and down to my toes. This was better. This was much better. Leaning back against the wall, I closed my eyes and let the heroin work its magic.


	5. Deafened By The Fight

_Yeah. This is chapter five. Everybody be happy and rejoice. Or, you know, not. Um… read/review. Please. Unless this chapter really sucks, in which case save my injured self-esteem and remain silent. Thanks._

Disclaimer: Still not mine. Sorry.

_Through My Blood_

By Alison

_Chapter Five: Deafened By The Fight_

I didn't know how I'd gotten there or how much time had passed. My head still spun wildly as I opened the door to the loft and stumbled inside.

"Roger, where'd you--" Mark stopped abruptly. He inched towards me, looking very much like he was approaching a crazed murderer. "Are you okay?"

"Sure, fine. Never been better." I laughed and threw myself onto the couch. My landing made a funny "plop" sound and I giggled again.

Mark's voice trembled as he spoke. "Um, you sound... you sound like..."

"Like what?" The reality of the situation hadn't quite hit my drug-hazed brain yet.

"Where'd you go?" he asked, his tone gravely low.

I swallowed, trying to think clearly. "Nowhere."

Before I could react, the filmmaker was nearly on top of me. He grasped my arm firmly and tugged my shirt sleeve up to my bicep.

"Jesus," he breathed, wincing at the angry red needle prick. His eyes ventured upward to meet mine inquisitively. "Why?"

I jerked my arm away. "You don't understand. I had to, okay? I--"

"Fuck that! Don't give me any of your shitty excuses, I've heard them all!" he shouted, visibly hurt. "I can't believe you would... after all this time... you promised, Roger, you _promised _you'd never use again!"

His shouting made my mind began to clear just slightly, enough to send a wave of dread rushing over my stomach. "I -- I know. Mark, I'm sorry..."

"You're sorry?" His brow shot up in disbelief. "You're sorry? You have some nerve, thinking that's gonna make everything okay!"

"It's your fault, you know!" Realizing what had just left my mouth, I paused and turned pale. "Shit, I didn't mean--"

"Get out." Mark turned away, shaking his head.

"What?"

"Get out. This is my apartment and I don't want a junkie living in it."

God, did he mean...?

He did. The expression on his face, sad and angry and betrayed, spoke more than words ever could. Wordlessly I stood and trudged to the door. My hand lingering over the doorknob, I prayed silently that he would change his mind and call me back.

He said nothing. It was over. "See ya," I muttered under my breath before leaving.

He hated me. My best friend -- my Mark -- hated me. He wanted me out. I was a disappointment to him, to everyone. Why did I always hurt the people I loved?

And I did love Mark. Apparently it took losing him to realize that for certain, but now it seemed clearer than daylight, the most natural and obvious thing in the world. I loved him. But not just that... I was in love with him.

The drugs hadn't helped. The filmmaker's face still haunted my thoughts like a wraith. There had to be some other way to forget.

At the back of our building, in the lower left corner of the wall, was a loose brick. I used to hide my stash there before Mark found out about my addiction. After I got clean, I still kept a few things there -- it was the only storage area I had that absolutely nobody knew about.

I pried the brick out and reached into the hole that remained. A twenty dollar bill and a switchblade knife lay in the dark crevice. I pocketed both and replaced the brick snugly.

Within minutes, I found myself in front of a nearby pub. It was too early to be crowded, but the lunchtime crowd was beginning to filter in so I wouldn't be noticed too much.

I set my money on the counter and ordered the hardest liquor they had. Three shots and five agonizing minutes later, the torture in my head had yet to relent. There was no release, anywhere I turned. Was I condemned to spend the rest of my life -- however short it might be -- away from the one person I truly loved? How the hell could I survive without Mark to take care of me, to fix my coffee and tell me stories and listen to my music and calm me down and hold me out of harm's way?

There was only one solution, and it was becoming steadily more obvious with every drink, every passing second. I ran my fingers over the cool steel of the knife in my back pocket, then stood up with determination. I had to do this, had to ease the pain and forget Mark and Mimi and everything else…permanently.

Movement came slowly -- the heroin and alcohol were taking their toll on my body. It was a dangerous combination; even when I was a junkie I knew better than to drink and shoot up in such close proximity. Not that it mattered now. Soon, nothing would.

I wandered down the streets, not sure where I was going. The loft was out of the question, for obvious reasons. I didn't know anywhere else. My thoughts were scattered, jumbled into an incoherent, drugged mess. For a moment I even forgot why I was outside, why I was clutching a switchblade knife in my shaky, sweating palm.

Outside Tompkins Square Park I remembered my purpose. Dodging the children and homeless people that inhabited the park, I found a partially secluded spot, where fences and tall bushes would provide the privacy I needed. Just as I reached the area, my legs gave out and I tumbled to the ground. It took me a few minutes to regain enough stability to sit up. I channeled every remaining ounce of energy into flipping open the blade and placing it against my wrist.

As I began to apply pressure, a distant voice called my name, and suddenly I was afraid to continue. What if the voice was someone important? What if somebody needed me?

But nobody needed me. Not Mimi -- she'd probably just run back to Benny the moment she heard I was gone. Not Collins -- if he needed anybody, it was Angel, not me. Certainly not Maureen or Joanne -- they were too concerned with each other to realize that anyone else existed, especially me.

And Mark? Mark didn't need me. He never had. It was I that needed him – when I nearly overdosed and came home too high to even move, when I was going through withdrawal, when I got the flu, when Mimi and I broke up, when I felt depressed and angry and hopeless -- I had always needed him. I liked to play tough, to pretend I was strong and mature and in control, but nothing could have been further from the truth. I was pathetic. For Christ's sake, I couldn't even make my own blood cells function properly!

Mark, on the other hand, was and always would be a survivor. Healthy, intelligent, hardworking, caring, devoted, stable, a great friend, a great person in general... maybe that was why I loved him. Because he was everything I wanted to be but could only ever dream of.

What was I to him? A dying, strung-out, worthless excuse for a man who had only ever hurt him and take up his time with my own problems. How could anybody ever love someone like me? No, it wasn't possible. Mark had done the right thing, kicking me out. And he knew it. He deserved better.

The voice rang out softly again. _Hallucinations_, I assured myself. _Just get this over with_.

The sound seemed to grow louder, or maybe it was my mind trying desperately to focus on something that wasn't the digging pain in my arm. Warm, tainted blood spilled out of the long gash, staining my skin and clothes.

"Roger! Where are you?"

The other wrist was next. It cut easier and seemed to bleed faster than the first. I was drowning in it, I thought vaguely, surrounded by my own blood and sweat and tears and now vomit... I began convulsing uncontrollably, my body rebelling and my thoughts fading and --

"Roger!" A hand grabbed my shoulder.

Mark? No, it couldn't be. He hated me, he wouldn't be wrapping his arms around my chest like this person was. I tried to speak but could manage only a choked, wordless whisper.

"God, Roger, I -- I'm so sorry, this is all my fault! Jesus..."

Time and events became a blur. My attention began to zone in and out, catching only brief words and phrases, fragments of action as Mark screamed for help. Later -- was it seconds, minutes, hours maybe? I didn't know – he mentioned "AIDS," then cried out in protest as somebody tore him away from me. I moaned weakly.

There was a stretcher, though I didn't know where it had come from, and several strong hands lifting onto it. People were calling random words, something like medical gibberish, to each other, but I didn't pay attention. The last thing my brain processed was Mark lunging forward, despite the warnings that echoed all around me, and grasping my bloodstained hand tightly.

Then everything went black.


	6. But I Only Said Goodnight

_Yes, the long-awaited (heh) sixth chapter has now been posted. :-) No, Roger's not dead... there wouldn't be much story left if he was, would there? But I've still got quite a few chapters to go here, so he's not leaving any time soon! Anyway, read/review, please. I'm not as happy with this chapter as I am with the others, so I'd like to know what you guys think of it. Oh well. Enjoy!  
Note: Just thought I'd add this, after one of the reviews I got (I love you Sandy!). I know the hospital wouldn't let Roger out so quickly, but, well, this is fantasyland, not real life. And I have no clue how something like this would be dealt with by a hospital staff, so I just wanted to get the boy out of there ASAP, so the plot can progress and all. Cute M/R can't happen if Roger's stuck in the psych ward, after all! ^_^  
_Disclaimer: They're mine, all mine, bwahahaha! Nah, just kidding.

_Through My Blood_

By Alison

_Chapter Six: But I Only Said Goodnight_  
_  
_The darkness was enveloping. I tried to open my eyes but they refused to obey me. _Where am I? _A distant voice, tense with worry, pierced through the thick haze of unconsciousness to reach my ears.

When can I take him home? Mark. My body felt as though it had been filled with very heavy metal, making it impossible to move or give some sign that I was here, I was alive.

He should be okay to leave when he wakes up. Luckily he was too weak to do much damage with that knife. Just make sure he stays under supervision and gets plenty of rest.

I will. Mark intertwined his fingers with mine. Please wake up, Roge. His hand felt so warm, so caring

Finally I managed to crack my eyelids open. M... Ma—

The filmmaker jumped at the sound of my voice. Oh... oh God... don't talk if you don't have the energy, he murmured.

The more he spoke, the less leaden my body became. Where are we? I mumbled.

He swallowed hard and offered a tentative smile. The hospital. But we'll be home soon. Just relax for now, okay?

I nodded slowly. Then there was someone else, another hand on my shoulder.

You're very lucky Mark found you, said the nurse. You could easily have died if he hadn't gotten you here in time. Heroin and alcohol can be lethal together, besides the fact that—

Maybe that was my intention, I snapped, cutting her short. Mark's fingers tightened around mine.

Calm down, he whispered. She's just trying to help.

Unfazed, the nurse continued, I would suggest rehab, but Mark swore this was the first time you've used in years, and he wants to take care of you himself. Promise me, though, she said, turning to my filmmaker, you'll enroll him if it gets any worse and you can't control him.

I promise.

They conversed in hushed tones for a few more minutes, then she returned her attention to me. Take care of yourself, Mr. Davis. With a final smile, she left me alone with Mark.

The air in the room was thick with silence and tension; now that he knew I was awake and alive, he had dropped my hand and taken to staring at the floor. I wanted to speak but had no idea where to begin.

I'm sorry.

His statement caught me off-guard. What? Why was he apologizing?

For kicking you out. I'm sorry. I was just angry, I wasn't thinking—

It's okay. I shrugged. I can't really blame you.

He smiled meekly. Ready to go home?

The sooner, the better.

Neither of us said a word the entire taxi ride home. He helped me silently up the stairs to our loft, tucked me into bed, then left my room promising to bring me some tea.

When Mark returned, he curled up beside me and lifted the tea cup to my lips. I rolled my eyes but took a sip. I'm not three, I complained after swallowing.

He rolled his eyes back. Doesn't mean you don't need to be taken care of sometimes.

I carefully sipped more of the hot liquid. Hey... I'm sorry, too.

No explanation was necessary; Mark simply nodded. It's okay. The silence resumed, until: Why?

I thought you hated me, you never wanted to see me again. I coughed, a little embarrassed. And I... well, I didn't want to live like that.

Mark laughed, a choked defense to keep himself from crying more than anything else. You're a moron, Roger. I would never just throw you out of my life. I couldn't.

He draped an arm over my chest, shifting so that he was laying on his stomach looking up at me. His beautiful crystal blue eyes searched mine. But why'd you do the drugs? he asked, barely audible.

Why? _If only I could tell you, Mark._ He looked so sad, so vulnerable, so -- so beautiful...

If I couldn't tell him, at least maybe I could show him. I tilted my head forward slightly and closed my eyes, too afraid to even breathe as our lips touched.

To my surprise, he resisted for only a second, then pressed in to meet my kiss. His lips were thin, dry, not at all like kissing Mimi. He tasted so good, like tea and orange juice and Chapstick and--

He was pulling away. _Oh God, please don't let him hate me..._

Mark's lips tilted gently upward at the corners, but his smile couldn't mask the slight hint of sadness in his face. You should go to sleep, Roge.

I nodded mutely. Was he going to say nothing, to ignore what had happened? Had I just dreamt it all up?

G'night. Before I could respond, he turned the lights out and left my room.

A million worries invented themselves in my head – what if he hated me? Why did he leave? What did that smile mean? And why did he kiss me back?

That's when it hit me. _Are you a fucking moron, Roger? You have a girlfriend! It's one thing to have thoughts about someone else, but it's quite another to actually follow through on them..._

Great. Not only was I a shitty best friend, I was now an unfaithful boyfriend as well. And infidelity is not the most attractive trait in a person -- there was no way Mark would want to be with someone who couldn't even keep his lips off people he wasn't dating.

_Is that all you care about, ruining your chances with Mark? What about Mimi, the girl you claim to be in love with?_

What about her? Was I in love with her anymore? You can't be in love with two people at once, can you? And if I was so certain that I loved Mark...

Fuck this, I mumbled aloud. The only conclusion I could reach was that I was far too exhausted -- not to mention the fact that my mind was still, no doubt, being affected by all the chemicals I'd forced into my system that day -- to figure anything out. Maybe the morning would bring a sober mind and some sort of understanding. Until then, all I could do was fall into a nervous, fitful sleep.


	7. I Know My Own Heart Now

_I didn't think this chapter would ever reach a point where I was satisfied enough to post it. It's been through about three or four rewrites now, and I think I'm okay with it. Of course, let me know what you guys think. :-) I love reviews! Long live reviews! Viva las revistas! Okay, I'm fine... _

Disclaimer: (sung to the tune of You Don't Own Me) I don't own them / They are just some of my many toys... Erm, yeah.

_Through My Blood  
_  
By Alison

_Chapter Seven: I Know My Own Heart Now_

Morning, sleepyhead.

I rubbed my eyes groggily and looked up at my smiling filmmaker. He had made breakfast in bed: Captain Crunch, a bagel, and coffee. I'm not hungry.

He pushed the tray onto my lap. Too bad, you're eating anyway. You have to get your strength back. Wouldn't want to lose those manly muscles, would you?

I stuck my tongue out and grabbed the coffee mug off the tray. I slowly nursed the hot black liquid, almost afraid to let the mug leave my lips. If it did, I'd be required to talk, and I had no idea what to say.

_Mark, I'm in love you. I have dreams about you that require me to take a cold shower and change the bedsheets when I wake up. I want us to spend the rest of our lives together, and not just in a best friends and roommates kind of way. More like in a doing what we did yesterday when you brought me home from the hospital kind of way.  
_  
Yeah, that'd be a terrific way to begin the morning.

Finally I placed the coffee cup on my nightstand. I had to say something -- if I didn't, my confusion and curiosity would just fester and eventually drive me crazier than I already was. I needed to know what that kiss meant to him.

Hey, uh, Mark? I said nervously, willing my voice not to crack.

Hmm? He glanced innocently up at me, a stolen bite of my bagel stuffed in his mouth.

I just, um, about last night...

He quickly swallowed. Don't worry about it.

I blinked. What?

Look, I know you were just feeling vulnerable. It could've been anyone and you would've done the same thing. You don't need to apologize.

Not exactly the response I'd been hoping for. I wasn't going to-- At the last moment I lost my nerve. Yeah. Okay.

I'll just pretend it didn't happen, he continued. Jesus, how much was he going to rub it in? Lots of people do stuff like that when they're as upset as you were yesterday. It's totally normal. I know it didn't mean anything.

_Okay, I got the damn point already!_

It wasn't until a look of shock registered on Mark's face that I realized I had shouted.

What's your problem, Roger?

I know it meant nothing to you, okay? You can stop telling me so, I snapped, my lips twisting into a scowl.

Have a heart attack about it, he muttered under his breath.

If you're gonna say something about me, be a fucking man and say it out loud, Mark!

What the hell has gotten into you today? He snatched the breakfast tray off my lap and slammed it down on the night stand. It's not like I've been sitting here throwing insults at you for the past hour.

You might as well have! I stood up and stalked over to the closet.

Mark gave an exasperated sigh. Christ, you'd think you're in love with me or something.

Thankfully, the closet door hid my burning face from view. That's stupid, I mumbled hastily.

A long moment passed before he spoke. No kidding.

I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. Once I was fairly certain my face had returned to its normal shade, I swiped a shirt off a hanger and returned to my bed. As soon as I reached it, Mark rose to his feet.

I -- I should probably -- I've got things to do... I detected the slightest blush on Mark's cheeks as he whirled around and escaped through the open door.

Great. I'd already managed to piss my best friend off and it wasn't even ten AM yet. _Could this day get any worse?_

Suddenly my bedroom door flew open once again. This time Mimi bounded inside, her curls falling over her shoulder as she hurried to my side.

_Apparently, yes._

Mark told me what happened. I came by yesterday, but you were sleeping, and Mark said you needed your rest. She furrowed her brow with worry. What happened, baby?

It took an immense effort to refrain from pulling away or snapping at her. Did she have to treat me like a five-year-old?

It's a long story, I said shortly.

The answer obviously didn't satisfy her. I've got time.

Yeah, well, I don't.

Roger... Mimi touched my shoulder, her fingertips firm against my skin. What's the deal?

I faked a blank look, and she pulled me to the bed, rolling her eyes.

When did this happen? When did we stop talking, having fun... loving? The last word left her lips softly, almost choked out. Our eyes met and searched each others' for understanding. What I found was an upset, frustrated girl, struggling desperately between fright and fearlessness. She was right. Something had changed between us. Was it me or her?

I don't know, I admitted.

Mimi finally tore her eyes away from me and closed them in thought. Me neither.

So what happens now?

Neither of us spoke for several moments. It's kind of scary, she murmured. The idea of breaking up.

I nodded, staring intently at the corner of my bed, where the dingy, rumpled sheet was folded over. It was scary, in a way. Two and a half years we'd been together. I could barely remember what it was like to spend a holiday without her, to go more than a few nights out of her arms. We'd gotten so used to each other.

Maybe that was the problem. We'd gotten too used to each other. Everything was the same, day after day, taken totally for granted.

But I'd lived with Mark for even longer than I'd known Mimi. So why wasn't I taking him for granted, too?

Suddenly Mimi's voice wrenched me out of my thoughts. There's someone else, isn't there? She asked it quietly, as though she knew the answer but dreaded it all the same. You're always distracted, she continued when I didn't respond. Your mind's somewhere else. I tried to ignore it for a long time, just in case I was imagining things.

What did she mean, for a long time? I hadn't started liking Mark until a few days ago!

"Mimi, I never--

Don't lie to me Roger, she interrupted, her tone much softer than the accusatory words seemed to call for. Maybe you didn't realize it, but I did. You're pretty obvious when you like someone, you know. Her lips flickered upward into something resembling a smile, and she fell silent for a few moments before continuing.

Does he know that... that you love him? Okay, I didn't realize she was _that_ observative.

I don't know, I sighed. He might; he's been acting weird lately. I decided against mentioning our kiss the day before.

Well, you know why, right?

Not... really... I said slowly, wondering if maybe I was supposed to.

Mimi's eyes rolled toward the ceiling. Do you have to be hit over the head with something before it gets through to you? He feels the same way! Probably always has.

My throat suddenly felt dry and very constricted. H-how do you know?

Are you dense? He stares at you all the time, comes to every one of your gigs despite his hatred for clubs, he wastes about ten reels of film a day on you alone... he does *everything* for you, and nobody is that devoted to someone they think of as just a friend! By now a tone of aggravation had entered her voice, and a twinge of guilt hit my stomach although I wasn't certain why.

Ther was no interrupting Mimi when she got on one of her tireades, so I didn't bother trying to fit a word in edgewise. Roger, do you think I'd be sitting here telling my boyfriend that his best friend's in love with him if I didn't believe it? Damn it, you have no idea how much it hurts me, knowing that you love Mark more than you'll ever love me, and there's nothing I can do to change it! She stood up, evading the hand I had stretched out toward her.

I've spent entire nights just lying in bed wishing Mark could disappear from the scene and you'd be mine alone. You're not the only one who gets jealous, Roger. And then I see you do something that hurts him, breaks his heart, and you don't even realize what you're doing because you're oblivious enough to think you still love me! I want to hate Mark sometimes, I really do... Suddenly her voice dropped to nearly a whisper. But I can't blame him for loving you. He deserves happiness; he deserves to be loved in return, and the worst part is that I know you could do that for him if I wasn't always standing in the way.

Several minutes passed in absolute silence. Mimi looked a little surprised by herself, but she was obviously relieved to have said everything. I was too shocked to turn my avalanche of thoughts into comprehensible words.

It's not your fault. The sentence came out before I even knew I was going to speak. It isn't. It's mine for being such an asshole all the time.

Roger, don't say that.

Well, I am! I insisted with a sigh. I know it. Not that it means much, but... I'm sorry.

Mimi managed a small, trembling smile. Roger Davis, apologizing? It means more than you think. She echoed my sigh. I'm sorry too. But it's better this way, right?

And it was. It had to be. Knowing that made this whole breaking-up thing marginally easier. I would survive without her. So, we're... we're over, huh?

Yeah. I guess so. Her smile extended a little. I, um, I'm glad we aren't ending things on bad terms. Take care of yourself, okay? And Mark, too.

IYou take care, too. Don't be a stranger, now, I added with a hesitant grin.

I wouldn't think of it. Good luck. She winked, and this time I didn't have to ask to know what she was referring to.

Thanks.

She nodded, her lips pressed together as though she wanted to respond but thought better of it. A moment later she was gone again -- always disappearing, Mimi was, in and out in the blink of an eye -- and I was alone.

There was only one thing left to do.


	8. Not Always Strong As A Lion

_Well, it took me long enough, but I've finally finished this chapter. I'm not really satisfied with the title, but I'm too lazy to search through all my recordings to find a Matt Caplan or Joshua Kobak song with a lyric that fits it better. I just want to get this darn thing posted. Please read/review as usual, let me know what you think. I'll try to have the next chapter done sooner, I promise. :-)_

Disclaimer: Not my characters. Also not my title. It's from a very beautiful song called "How Loving Ought To Be" by Joshua Kobak. Oh yeah, and I forgot to mention this in the previous chapter's disclaimer, but its title (I Know My Own Heart Now) is from a Matt Caplan song entitled "Goodbye." Another great song. ::nods::

_Through My Blood_

By Alison

_Chapter Eight: Not Always Strong As A Lion_

_Just get it over with, Roger. How hard can it really be? He's your best friend, it's not like he's going to murder you or something. It'll be relatively painless, and at least you'll have it off your chest and know how he feels. _

After a short mental pep talk, I had convinced myself I could do this. I could tell Mark I was in love with him. As I stood up, though, determination morphed into unsteadiness: due, I figured, to the drugs, alcohol, and whatever medications the doctors had pumped inside me. A few shaky steps -- _you're fine, Roger, it's nothing _-- and I reached the door. Suddenly my stomach gave a violent lurch. One hand gripping the door frame for support, I waited for the nausea to subside. When it did, I took a moment to gather my thoughts and my energy. Just nervousness, I assured myself, nothing to be worried about_._ I kept walking.

Mark, thankfully, was in the living room, so I only had to manage a few more steps until I could collapse, exhausted, on the couch.

You should be in bed, Mark said in a clipped tone, barely glancing up from his book.

I'm fine, I insisted, although as the words left my mouth I realized how unconvincing I sounded. Look, Mark, I think we... we need to...

Hmm?

I tried to respond, but found my mouth too dry to speak. What was wrong with me today? It was like my body had decided to rebel or something. Like I was going through... Oh, shit...

At this, Mark's head jerked up with a start. What is it? Are you--

I just barely nodded. My entire body was being overtaken by chills, wracking across my goosebumped skin in all-too-familiar icy waves.

Mark, I... I... My fists clenched up involuntarily, black-painted nails digging painfully into flesh. _Stop it stop it please don't do this..._ Help me...

He sprung forward, latching onto my shoulders firmly. Calm down, Roger, you'll be okay. It'll be over soon...

This time I couldn't even nod, too distracted by the churning nausea that had expanded to fill my entire stomach. Fortunately Mark knew what to do. He laid me down gently on the couch and ran to his bedroom for a blanket. When he returned, he knelt beside the sofa and took my hands in his own, deftly prying them open and slipping his own slender fingers between mine. There you go, he murmured, you're doing great, just stay calm.

I had the urge to laugh at his coaching, but instead cried out in pain. My grip tightened and a small whimper escaped Mark's throat. Oh God, I was hurting him.

Mark, I croaked hoarsely, Don't, I'll hurt you--

Shut up, Roger! His outburst threw me into shocked silence. I'm a big boy. Let me help you, okay? You should know by now that you need me.

That much, I couldn't argue with. I simply nodded and clutched his hands desperately, praying that I wasn't breaking them. After a few minutes, the pain seemed to be gone... until I tried to sit up. I was swiftly knocked back down by another rush of dreadful sickness.

I guess I had assumed that, since it had been so long since I was a junkie, I wouldn't experience any of the withdrawal symptoms I had always feared and hated. I had assumed that using just one more time wouldn't have any effect.

I never was good at assuming things.

There couldn't possibly be a worse feeling in the world than withdrawal: my limbs felt like they'd been possessed by some satanic force determined to wrench them from the rest of me; even underneath Mark's blanket, I was almost incapable of retaining any semblance of body heat. Cold sweat washed over my face until I had to close my eyes to keep them dry.

After a few minutes I began to feel marginally better; it took me a moment longer to comprehend why. Mark had lowered his head next to mine, allowing his lips to linger beside my ear. He was whispering words of encouragement, a joke or story, whatever popped into his head, pausing every once in a while -- was I just imagining it? no, this was definitely happening -- to kiss my tense jaw. With considerable effort, I forced myself to pay attention to his hushed voice.

Just concentrate on me, okay? he murmured, sending a warm breeze of air over my ear. Don't think about anything else. You're gonna be fine, I promise. I love you.

If my body was still experiencing withdrawal symptoms, my brain stopped noticing. Those three words echoed in my head as I tried to interpret their significance. Did he mean he loved me as a friend? Or... did he love me the way I loved him? Was I being foolish to even hope that he might?

As if that question even needed answering. Of course I was a fool. No halfway intelligent person would do the shit I'd done in the past day or two alone. Drugs, alcohol, a suicide attempt for Christ's sake. And now I had the gall to think Mark could ever love a fuck-up like me.

But those gentle touches, those sweetly whispered words and kisses that seemed to melt my skin.... well, he certainly wasn't helping me to think intelligently.

Roger?

I opened my eyes with a start. Only then did I realize that my legs had stopped cramping and my grip on Mark's hands had loosened considerably. The chills were less severe too, although not completely gone. My stomach still felt like it had been turned inside out and run through a washing machine's spin cycle a few times. But at least I was thinking clearly now, and I could actually move my head with minimal effort.

How are you feeling? Mark's face wore an expression of anxious concern, mixed with a dash of relief that the worst seemed to be over.

Like shit, I muttered, adjusting my neck on the arm of the sofa.

At least you're honest, he sighed. I meant it when I said you should be in bed.

I rolled my eyes. You just can't pass up the opportunity to say 'I told you so,' can you?

You're back to your bitter, sarcastic self, you must be fine. He poked my shoulder and smiled. Come on. Let me take you to bed.

I gulped, suddenly feeling slightly faint. Umm... oh -- okay... Hoping my face hadn't become too red, I allowed him to pull me upright. Mark led me to my room slowly, arms tight around my chest to help maintain my balance. After what felt like an eternity in his embrace, we reached my bed and he carefully lowered me onto the stiff mattress.

There you go, he murmured softly, pulling the frayed edges of a blanket up to my chest. Try to get some more rest, okay? By the time you wake up you'll feel a lot better.

I nodded. His face was lingering dangerously close to mine -- no, I wasn't going to kiss him again, not until this damn withdrawal was over and we'd had a change to talk and I knew whether he felt the same way and --

_Oh, fuck it._ Before I could let my rational side convince me that it was a bad idea, I surged forward and brought my lips to his. He responded immediately, almost as if he'd been expecting it, and pressed a hand to my cheek. Marginally reassured by his reaction, I let my mouth open and my tongue brush hesitantly against his. His free hand ventured up to tangle itself in my hair, and every warning in my head was destroyed.

As I pulled Mark's body closer to my own, he gave a small moan -- of what, pleasure? nervousness? -- and deepened the kiss. That, I decided, had to be an invitation to continue what I was doing. My hands wandered slowly down to the bottom of his sweater then slipped underneath it, finally making contact with the soft, warm flesh of his stomach.

Mark broke away with a start, a slight gasp escaping his lips. He swallowed hard; his eyes refused to meet mine.

Hey, what's--

I meant it when I said you should get some rest. He spoke tonelessly, as though the last five minutes had not happened at all.

But I--

Sliding off the bed, he interrupted me again. Go to sleep, okay? This time his voice seemed to be infused with pleading.

Fine, I sighed in deafeat.

Fine. Mark stood still, staring at the door as though it were a foreign object.

You can go now.

I caught a glimpse of scarlet flush on his cheeks before he gave a curt nod and escaped the room.

What the hell had just happened? I never claimed to be an expert at interpreting people's actions, but this was pushing me to new heights of confusion. Every time I thought I was getting somewhere with Mark, he turned around and shut me out. Damn it, that was supposed to be my job -- I was the infamous runner, the one who balked at the first sign of love or commitment or anything that could possibly lead to heartbreak.

Mark, though, he was better than that. He had to be. Right?

I was being foolish again. Mark had his own reasons to be afraid... just because he didn't get HIV and a drug addiction from his suicidal ex-girlfriend didn't mean he'd never been hurt. Christ, he dated Maureen for a year and a half, that in itself said plenty.

But I wasn't Maureen. I loved him, I mean really, truly loved him. I wasn't going to use him or abuse him as she had, treating him like a piece of gum to be chewed and then spit out when it lost its flavor.

_Well, you're no Angel yourself_, I thought sourly. _How many times have you bruised the heart of someone you cared about? Maybe not intentionally, but you've done it all the same. Why should Mark expect things to have changed? _

Because things had changed. I had changed. Or at least I was trying to, and that had to count for something. Mark made me want to become a better man. I was beginning to sound like a fucking boy band song, for God's sake, and if that wasn't proof enough then I didn't know what was.

With a sigh of frustration, I flung the threadbare blanket away from my body. He had to know how I felt right now, and there was no reason for a stupid stomachache to keep me from telling him.

I sat up quickly and jumped off the bed. _See? I feel fine. Nothing wrong with me._ Not until I reached the door did it hit me -- that awful, lightheaded, nauseous, I think I may be about to die feeling. I thrust a hand out blindly for the doorknob, my vision clouded by glittery waves of silver and gold, but my knees gave out before I could find it. I hit the hard, thinly carpeted floor with a dull thud.

After a few moments, I decided it would be safe to open my eyes. Well, the room was still there, so at least my eyesight was back. I glanced toward the door, shut securely about five miles away from me.

_Then again, maybe I won't tell him tonight._

The bed, it seemed, was even farther away. Just the idea of walking over to it made my legs lash out in protest. Suddenly the floor wasn't looking like such a terrible place to sleep.

_It's not like the mattress is much softer, anyway._


	9. The Way It Always Seems To Happen

_Okay, at long last, I've finally finished Chapter 9. I had a brief foray into the wonderful (sarcasm) world of writer's block for a while, but I think I'm happy with the way this chapter turned out. It might seem slightly cliche at the end, but I promise it's like that for a reason, one that isn't because that's the way it's always done.' I don't know, maybe I'm just paranoid. Please please please read/review. I don't know how many chapters are left, but it's pretty much downhill from here (in terms of action, that is, not quality - I hope, anyway!). Let me know what you think. Thanks, and enjoy! _

_Two things I forgot to mention: The beginning of this chapter is in italics because it's a dream. You find that out pretty quickly, but just so it doesn't freak anybody out and scare them off without reading on... Also, the dream is, well, a little descriptive. There is a reason for that R rating. :-) It's nothing terribly explicit, but, it's there. _

Disclaimer: Not my characters. (Man, I'm getting lazy with disclaimers...) The title is from Cookie Jar by Matt Caplan, a song which as Sandy pointed out to me fits this story/chapter a lot. But I didn't want to make Cookie Jar the title (for my own idiosyncratic reasons), so I hope this satisfies her. :-)

Through My Blood

By Alison

Chapter Nine: The Way It Always Seems to Happen

_Roger? Mark lingered by the doorway, a small pout on his lips. Can I come in? _

_Sure, I replied, casting aside my guitar to pay full attention to the man. What's up? _

_Mark crawled into the bed and wrapped his arms around my waist. Can I sleep with you tonight? My bed's so... lonely... _

_I coughed, averting my eyes. Um, yeah, sure. _

_Thanks. Mark flashed a charming smile, then leaned his head against my shoulder. He breathed in deeply and exhaled, the warm air tickling and teasing my neck. _

_Well... goodnight, I said with some difficulty. I closed my eyes, but they were jolted back open when I felt a hand trail down my stomach to my thigh. _

_You know, my filmmaker whispered, when I said I wanted to sleep with you tonight, I didn't just mean in the same bed... _

_Before I could respond, my lips were covered by Mark's. The sweetness flooded my senses, overwhelming and crushing and enveloping me all at the same time. The hand that lingered on my thigh slipped further inward, and I arched my hips up to meet the touch. _

_The kiss ended all too soon, but my disappointment was quickly replaced by anticipation. Mark's lips brushed along my jawline, blazing a trail of tingling warmth down the flesh. His tongue flickered torturously across a nipple, then swooped down to my navel. With agonizing slowness, he unbuckled the belt I was wearing and pulled it off. Then he set to work on the zipper, his palm pressng firmly against the denim fly and eliciting a small, muffled noise from my throat. _

_A minute later, my jeans were in a pile on the floor. A chill shot through the freshly exposed skin, but it quickly vanished as the delicious feeling of Mark's warm, wet mouth encompassed my erection. _

_Oh God, I murmured, savoring every touch and movement Mark made. He was a natural at this. As he sped up, my moans grew louder and more frequent, finally culminating as he-- _

Roger?

I awoke with a start. Mark had his hand on my shoulder and was searching my face, an extremely worried expression on his own. Did you sleep like this all night?

Grumbling in pain, I shifted onto my side. Okay, so maybe sleeping on the floor wasn't the best idea I'd ever had.

What the hell do you want? I muttered. Did he have to end my dream just when it was getting to the best part?

Are you okay? You sounded like you were having a nightmare... you kept moaning, and thrashing all over the place. He gingerly stroked my hair, which currently hung over my forehead in sweaty clumps, but he didn't seem to mind.

_Yeah, _I thought bitterly, _until a few minutes from now, when he decides to pretend it never happened and leave without a single goddamn explanation._ I pulled away from the touch, frowning. I'm fine. I wasn't having a bad dream.

Whatever you say. He sighed, rolling his eyes ever so slightly. I made you breakfast. Go get into bed and I'll bring it to you.

I glanced downward for a split second, just long enough to check my crotch area and confirm what I feared.

Uh, Roger? Apparently he had noticed too. I didn't even stop to consider why in the world he was looking at my crotch -- I think I was a little too busy blushing furiously.

What, never heard of a morning wood? I stood up, my movements slow and cautious to ensure that there would be no reenactments of last night's performance.

He stifled a snicker. I guess you weren't having a bad dream after all... must've been a pretty good one, actually.

I shoved him as hard as I could. Shut up, Mark.

His eyes grew wide as he staggered backward and struggled to regain his balance. Jeez, it was just a joke.

Yeah, like you, I said under my breath.

What's that? he inquired, raising an eyebrow.

Nothing. We were both silent; I stalked over to the bed and sat down. After a moment he grabbed a tray from outside my door and joined me.

I didn't know what you'd feel like, so I made a couple different things. But if you think it's gonna make you sick, you don't have to eat it, okay?

Okay, Mommy.

This time he ignored my snide comment and handed me a mug of hot coffee. Maybe he thought my bad mood was due to lack of caffeine. Maybe it was.

_Then again, maybe it's caused by my best friend snogging me and deciding in the middle of our make-out session that it's time to go to sleep._

The coffee was making me feel a little better, anyway. At least until Mark's hand tentatively slipped onto my free one. No, I wasn't going to put up with this is he or isn't he? shit anymore. I yanked my hand away and placed it on the coffee mug.

Mark sighed loudly. I don't get you, Roger, he complained, frustrated.

I concentrated on my drink, feigning nonchalance. Why do you say that?

Jesus, you snap at every other word I say, and you won't even let me so much as touch you!

Did it ever occur to you that maybe I just don't like being touched? I took a large gulp and tried to ignore the burning sensation it caused in my mouth and throat.

You sure didn't seem to mind it yesterday!

Yeah, and you never seemed like a prick tease until a few days ago, but I guess people aren't always what they seem, huh?

The surprise and hurt on his face were evident. Once or twice he opened his mouth to respond, but ended up snapping it shut each time. Finally he spoke, quietly. What is it you want from me?

I chewed on a piece of toast for a good minute before addressing his question. What do you mean?

He sighed again. You're my best friend. I'm not going to let you turn me into some meaningless one night stand just because you're craving comfort.

I nearly choked on my toast. Wait, what?

I may be naive, Roger, but I'm not stupid. It's obvious when you want to get someone into bed, and this time is no exception. I never thought you were into guys, but you've made it pretty clear.

The situation would've been hilarious. If it weren't so horrendous. You think _that's_ what this is about? That I just want to get a good fuck out of you? Christ, Mark, did the thought that I'm actually in love with you ever once cross your mind?

We both froze. _Did I just say that? Please tell me I did not just say that..._ The look on his face was proof that, indeed, I had. Shit.

I... you... Mark stuttered, then stopped to clear his throat. Really?

I shrugged, looking anywhere I could that wasn't the other man's searching gaze. Yeah. So what if I am?

His response was a soft, stifled laugh. Betraying my unspoken vow not to look at him, for fear that his eyes would reveal a truth I didn't want to believe, I glanced up sharply. Immediately he took on an apologetic quality. I'm sorry, it's just... do you have any idea how long I've wanted to hear you say something like that?

For the second time in minutes, I found myself wondering if this was really happening. This time, though, I prayed desperately that it was. Umm... no, I replied lamely.

A while. An unsteady grin hovered on Mark's lips, as though he was afraid to be happy just yet, afraid like I was that this was all just a dream. I, uh -- I do too. Love you, I mean.

Oh--okay. It was too surreal, too perfect, yet at the same time, not at all the perfect scenario I'd always imagined. Something was not right here. The quivering nausea in my stomach had returned, but this time I wasn't sure it was from withdrawal.

What was wrong with me? I'd spent the last few days pining away for him to return my affections, and now that he did, I was scared shitless.

Mark extended a hand toward me, and I pulled back reflexively. A hurt look flashed across his face. What's the--

I... Mark, I need to... What was I trying to say? What was I trying to do? I didn't know. A familiar feeling of dread had begun to wash over me, cloaking any sense of reason I still had. I stood up abruptly, eyeing the bedroom door like it held my salvation.

Roger, please don't...

I wanted to listen to him. I wanted to calm down and throw my arms around him and let everything be okay. But everything wasn't okay. I didn't know how or why, but it wasn't.

I just, I need to -- to think, okay? My chest was pounding and I wasn't even moving yet. The room seemed to be closing in on me. I made a break for the door.

I swear to God--

I was gone before Mark could finish his sentence.


	10. Who Knows Why I See What I See

_Wow. I never thought this chapter would ever be finished. But look, here it is. Go me! Finally. ::sigh:: I don't know how great it is, but it's here. Hopefully everybody hasn't forgotten this fic entirely by now. :-) Read and review if you're so inclined. I always appreciate feedback/critiques/compliments/scathing flames, etc. _

Disclaimer: The characters are not mine. If they were, I wouldn't be wasting my time writing this drivel, because I'd be too busy attempting to get myself published. I own nothing worth having, so there's no point in suing, I promise. Also, the chapter title is from the song Rendezvous by Matt Caplan. Just trying to give credit where credit is due. ^_^

_Through My Blood_

By Alison

_Chapter Ten: Who Knows Why I See What I See_

I trampled down the stairs, through the front door of our building, and onto the sidewalk, letting huge gasps of outside air fill my lungs. The street signs became blurs of color as I sped past them. I didn't know where I was going -- or thought I didn't, anyway. Only when I reached the entrance to an all-too-familiar subway station did I realize, with startling clarity, why I had chosen this particular path.

I glanced around the immediate area; with a sigh of relief, I found that I was alone. Mark must have woken me up early, while everybody else in the city -- particularly, the one person I was afraid of seeing -- was still in bed. Maybe fate was looking out for me, even if I couldn't control my own damn impulses.

Back for more? a smarmy voice inquired from behind me.

_Fuck you too, Fate,_ I thought angrily. Well, this time I wasn't going to give in. I shot the man what I hoped was a withering glare. Actually, I'm just on my way uptown.

He smirked. Sure you are. How much you need? A gram? Two?

Look, I don't even have any cash, okay?

My response didn't even cause him to miss a beat. I'll hook you up this time. Free of charge.

I, on the other hand, was caught completely off-guard. This guy really wanted my business back. I'd never heard him offer anyone free smack, at least not after their first time. I -- really? I cursed myself for allowing my voice to crack with vulnerability. But Christ... could I resist what he was offering?

Judging by the look on his face, he knew I'd fallen right into his hands. Instantly his demeanor switched to an almost seductive charm. Really. All you gotta do is say the word. He pulled out a small bag, flashing it tantalizingly in front of me before returning it to the safety of his jacket lining. You can't resist this. You need it. He took a step toward me, his breath warm and heavy on my face. You need the feel of it flowing into your body, the rush of pleasure-- he whispered the word slowly into my ear, and I gave a small moan -- that you can't get anywhere else. You know you want it.

And suddenly I noticed how close we were, nearly touching. I'd seen him flirt with customers before, but they were always the young, attractive women -- certainly not me. My head was spinning. What alternate universe had I just stepped into?

His hand snaked around my waist, and I felt him slip something into my back pocket, pulling my body to his in the process. I closed my eyes and prayed silently for the shivering to stop. I don't want your drugs, I murmured, aware of how fucking pathetic and unconvincing I sounded.

What do you want then, loverboy? Is the scrawny little boyfriend not doing it for you anymore?

My head jerked back with a snap. Our eyes met and I knew what we both were thinking: he had just said the wrong thing. The delicate grasp he'd held on me slipped away.

Get the fuck away from me, I muttered.

Afraid to admit defeat, he dropped the subtle seduction in favor of raw force. Before I could react, he had me up against the wall of a nearby building, pressing his hips hard against mine. I fought back the urge to vomit. Just taking the fucking drugs. You couldn't resist them before, and you can't now. Your stupid camera boy has nothing on this shit.

I shook my head in disgust and, using every scrap of energy I possessed, pushed him off of me. Leave me the hell alone. I'm not gonna put up with your shit anymore. And don't you ever talk about Mark again, or you will regret it. I grabbed his shirt collar and twisted until it choked his neck.

His cool exterior seemed to crack for just a moment. Probably hadn't ever had a client threaten him before -- he had too much control over them for that to happen.

But he didn't control me.

The notion hit me with some force. I was in control of myself. Not the drug dealer, not an addiction, not some invisible fate, not anyone or anything but myself.

I didn't need his drugs. And I wasn't going to take them.

Reaching into my back pocket, I grabbed the plastic bag and threw it down the sidewalk. He drew in a sharp breath as I released my grip on his shirt, looking around furtively. Afraid somebody might have seen him and ruined his reputation, I guess.

Just as quickly, he resumed his trademark menacing glare. You're gonna regret that, he spat, furious. Had it been a few years earlier -- hell, earlier that day, even -- his words might have struck some sort of fright or worry within me. But now, the only emotion I recognized, churning in the pit of my stomach, was revulsion.

God, I hated him.

Fuck you, I muttered, shoving him away from me. He stumbled backward for half a second before regaining his balance. He stared at me, and I wondered whether he was going to fight back or just leave with part of his pride intact.

Well, I didn't have time for his stupid decisions.

I turned away and walked down 14th Street toward Avenue B, not turning to check my back. I wasn't scared of him. There were more important things to do than worry about that scum.

_Like make up with Mark_, a voice in my head prodded.

But something was keeping me from returning to the loft. Instead of turning onto 11th Street when I reached it, I kept going. Soon I found myself at the park on 10th. Some kids were playing basketball, and they glanced curiously at me as I passed their court.

The park was quiet, save for a steady breeze that rustled the tree branches and the distant chatter of the basketball game. I was alone, finally. For the first time since I'd fled the loft, I could focus on my thoughts.

My mind, of course, settled immediately on the subject of Mark. (I should have known that being alone with my thoughts wouldn't be the most peaceful, happy activity.)

Why had I run away from him? Hadn't he given me exactly what I wanted?

What _did _I want?

Well, that much was easy enough. Him. I wanted Mark. I wanted to love him and to be with him forever.

But that was exactly the problem. Forever couldn't possible happen, not for me. I would do something to hurt him -- or vice versa, though the former seemed far more likely -- and we'd break up, and I would lose him. I hated the idea. It was better to stop it now, before I knew what I would be missing.

_That's a fucking joke,_ I thought bitterly. I _did_ know what I would be missing, no matter how much I tried to convince myself otherwise. I had already tasted his lips on my own, kissed away his warm tears, fallen asleep tucked safely in his arms, even heard him say those three tiny words that held the entire world in their meaning.

He loved me. And I loved him. So we should be together, right? That's the way these things are supposed to work.

Why was I so afraid to accept that?

Dammit, Roger, what the hell is your problem?

I looked up to find Mark, panting heavily, his face flushed and glistening with sweat. Christ, he looked sexy like--

_Cut it out! Now is hardly the time for those thoughts._ I tore my eyes away, forcing them to stare at the cracked cement beneath my feet.

Well? I asked what your problem is! He sounded almost frantic. Mark was rarely, if ever, this confrontational. I didn't know how to react.

You can't just do this, you know! he continued breathlessly. You can't just say what you said back there, then run away and make me search the entire fucking East Village to find you!

The nagging voice in my head begged, _Stay calm, Roger, stay calm._ I promptly ignored it and leapt to my feet. If Mark wanted confrontation, I would damn well give it to him.

Then what can I do, huh? Tell me how _you_ think this is supposed to work!

Rather than allow my shouting to fuel his anger like I'd expected, Mark slipped suddenly back to the quiet, gentle voice-of-reason method he usually used with me. His hand found my arm and this time, I didn't flinch away. Come home with me. Please. You can't run from everything your entire life. I made the mistake -- though maybe it was a blessing in disguise -- of looking into his eyes, wide and pure and imploring... and impossible to resist, hard as I tried.

I swallowed a lump in my throat and sank back down to the bench. I'm scared, I murmured. Just saying it seemed to drain all the energy from my body.

Mark settled beside me, our arms still in light contact. I know. But I've always taken care of you, haven't I? And I'm not about to stop.

But I... what if I don't always have you?

What if the sun doesn't rise tomorrow? What if the earth stops spinning? I opened my mouth to protest, but he continued before I could get a word in edgewise. I don't know everything, Roge. I just know that I love you, and you love me, so we should be together. That's the way these things are supposed to work, right?

A smile approached the corners of my lips, pulling them upwards. Mark smiled back, unable to mask the slight confusion on his face. What? Why are you giving me that dopey romantic look? It wasn't that poetic. Kinda cliche, really.

I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and slid closer to him. Shut up and kiss me.

He quirked an eyebrow. You know, maybe you should stop watching all those TV movies--

I leaned in and pressed my mouth to his, cutting the sentence short. His lips were soft and yielding against my own, as though trying to absorb and memorize every touch, every taste that he could.

It was almost like floating, I decided. The world had begun whirling twice as fast, leaving me dizzy and breathless when the kiss finally ended. The silly grin that had invaded my face now felt like it would never disappear.


	11. Now That I See What I've Become

_Wow. This sure took a hell of an effort to finish. But, yep, it's done. Finally. Not really much to say right now... I'm tired and it's been a long day, and I've been working on the last two paragraphs for about two weeks now, so I'm kind of sick of this fic at the moment. :-) Just, um, read it, and review if you're so inclined. Your comments/criticisms/compliments/assorted other c' words really do mean a lot to me! Thanks, and enjoy!_

Disclaimer: It's been a fun ride, guys. Mr. Larson can have the boys (and girl!) back now. Until my next fic, anyway. ::grins::  
_  
Through My Blood_

By Alison

_Chapter 11: Now That I See What I've Become _

Now I've seen some pretty unlikely pairs, but I don't think I ever would've guessed this one.

Reluctantly I pulled my lips away from Mark's to turn in the direction of the voice.

Several feet from our bench stood a smug-looking Benny, clutching Mimi's hand possessively. Mimi's face conveyed a blend of surprise, jealousy, and anger covered rather unsuccessfully by a forced expression of nonchalance.

Well, you never were the brightest crayon in the box, now were you? I retorted sourly.

Mark placed a firm hand on my forearm. Be nice, Roger.

Benny grinned, thrilled as all hell to witness Mark ordering me around. I bet I know which one of you weas the pants in this relationship, he chuckled, and they aren't plaid...

What the hell do you want? I asked, jumping up and taking a step toward our ex-roommate. Fuck all that he made amends so you shouldn't hate him anymore bullshit. We were never friends to begin with, and as long as he remained an asshole, that situation wasn't going to change.

What, can't a guy take a walk with his girlfriend-- he put way too much emphasis on that word for my liking -- without being suspected of some ulterior motive?

So I take it you told Muffy--

Alison, chimed Benny and Mark. Whose fucking side was he on, anyway?

--who you're out with?

A scarlet flush crept up on Benny's cheeks. At least I didn't dump my girlfriend to hop the fence into bed with my roommate.

Before I could speak, Mimi smacked Benny's arm and piped in, Would you just cut it out?

Meanwhile, Mark tugged on my hand. Maybe we should go home.

Wait. Roger and I need to talk.

Talk? What on earth did Mimi and I need to talk about? Her tone didn't exactly suggest it was something pleasant. I sighed.

Mark and Benny exchanged glances then walked toward the basketball courts together. I watched helplessly as they retreated until Mimi's voice disrupted my thoughts.

You have some nerve, you know? she hissed through gritted teeth.

What?

Sitting here in front of everybody, making out with Mark, when we just broke up yesterday! Don't waste any time, do you?

My jay dropped in disbelief. You told me to go for it with him! You gave me your blessing!

And you believed me? She looked as shocked as I felt. I was saying that to be nice, Roger. For God's sake, you'd just tried to kill yourself, I wasn't about to start a huge fight with you!

Give me a break, you obviously don't care too much -- you ran off with Benny again, anyway.

He takes care of me! You sure as hell never did.

I realized with a pang of guilt that she was right. But how could I take care of her, when I couldn't even take care of myself? That's why I needed Mark; he took care of me.

_No, you need Mark because you love him. Because he makes you strong, so you can take care of each other._

I looked up into Mimi's eyes. I know, I said softly. I'm sorry.

She didn't seem to be expecting that. Hell, I hadn't really expected it from myself, either. More screaming, maybe, but not an apology. It wasn't my way.

Until now, I guess.

I just... she sighed, shaking her head in confusion. It hurts, seeing you with him. I didn't think it would; I thought I'd be fine... but I'm not.

She hugged her arms tightly around her stomach, angling her head downward in the hope that I wouldn't see the sadness or vulnerability in her eyes. I did.

Taking a step forward, I began to open my arms but at the last moment, pulled away again. I hated to see Mimi in pain and not be able to do anything about it. I ran a hand through my hair, sighing frustratedly. _You should've known when you broke up that it wouldn't be that simple._

It's hard for me too, I mumbled.

Hard? For you? But you've got Mark, and isn't that all you wanted to begin with?

That doesn't mean I don't still care about you! You should know... you're with Benny but that doesn't stop you from caring about me, does it?

She twisted a lock of dark brown hair around her fingers. After a long pause, she finally replied. What does it mean?

I closed my eyes and let out a sigh. I don't know. I love him, Mimi. I really do. And I've put him -- and myself -- through enough hell, that we deserve to be happy now.

I want you guys to be happy, she said softly. I keep reminding myself this is the best thing for all of us. I just... I need some time, you know? To adjust to everything. We were together what, two and a half years? Being apart's gonna take some getting used to.

I hear you on that one.

A small smile began to appear on Mimi's lips. Oh yeah, you really got the shit end of this deal -- an adoring, cuter-than-pie boyfriend. You poor thing.

Hey, what about that stud Benny? I shot back with a grin to match hers. I hear he's a real catch. Would've snagged him myself if he wasn't so hung up on you all the time.

She smacked me playfully, her mouth open in shock. You've gone too far, Mr. Davis.

What are you gonna do, punish me? I'm into handcuffs, you know.

I'll be sure to tell Mark about that one.

Would you please? And leather, while you're at it.

Somehow, she snickered, I just don't see Mark as a leather person.

That's okay, it wouldn't stay on him long anyway.

Mimi shoved me again. I _really _didn't need to hear that...

I'm so sorry.

You are not.

Yeah, I guess you're right. I glanced over her shoulder. Speaking of Leatherboy and Studmuffin. Looks like they're ready to be allowed back into our conversation. What do you say?

Still shaking her head at me, Mimi turned around. Mark and Benny were loitering about thirty feet away, trying to pretend they weren't watching us. I gestured them with a wave; they nearly tripped over each other in their hurry. Mark took a place at my side while Benny promptly ensconced Mimi in his embrace. From the corner of my eye I caught Mark sending him a scolding glance. Benny's grip loosened slightly.

Is everything worked out now? Mark inquired. We answered him with a round of nods. Great. He smiled in relief.

Impulsively, Mimi stepped away from Benny and wrapped her lithe arms around Mark's shoulders. You take care of him, okay? He nodded, looking a little surprised by the sudden gesture, but pleased nonetheless. And keep an eye on him. He needs it. She held him a moment longer, then whispered something before kissing his cheek and pulling away.

Mark's eyes widened and I saw him struggle to swallow. Um, Roger? he said in a tiny voice. I don't really own any leather...

You little brat!

Before I could get to her, Mimi hid behind Benny, giggling. At least I didn't tell him about the hand--

Well, as much as I'd love to stay and hear about Roger's secret fetishes, Benny interrupted loudly, we should really be going.

I could have kissed him for that. You know, if the thought of our lips touching wasn't so revolting.

Some other time maybe, Mimi said with a wink.

We'll see. I returned her wink with a grin. Maybe things wouldn't be so difficult between us after all.

While Mimi exchanged hugs with Mark, I gave our ex-roommate a neutral nod. Then, with a shrug, I offered him my hand and we shook. Hell, if he was gonna be Mimi's boyfriend, the least I could do was be civil toward him. As long as he treated her right.

Finally the couple finished their good-byes and walked away toward St. Mark's Place. Meanwhile, my filmmaker turned to me with a smile. So.

So.

How does heading home sound?

It sounds great to me.

Me too. He tilted his head upward and placed a gentle kiss on my lips. A slight hesitation hung in the air before he took one of my hands in his own, twining our fingers together. I stared down at them for a second or two. A perfect fit.

As we started down the sidewalk, I decided Mark had been right when he told me, a few days ago, that not everything lasts forever. And maybe this wouldn't either. But I wasn't scared anymore. I had Mark, and I had this moment... and I had myself.

I didn't need anything else.

- - - - -

_Voila! Love it? Hate it? Let me know, by clicking the handy little review box. :-) Thanks! -- Ali_


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